That's No Lady, That's My Corporal
by GrrraceUnderfire
Summary: "Bloody cross-dressing." "Why me?" Newkirk wishes he wasn't always the chosen one whenever it's time to wear ladies' clothing on a mission, especially when Carter is making eyes at him. But Hogan has ideas of his own. Maybe Newkirk got the last laugh; maybe Hogan did. You be the judge. Missing scene from the episode "That's No Lady, That's My Spy."


"St-stop looking at me that way, Carter. And no, you are not taking me to the c-canteen for a beer. I just want to get this over and bleeding done w-with." Newkirk was dressing for his mission with LeBeau's help while Carter watched in fascination at the transformation taking place.

"Well, you do look pretty good as a girl, Newkirk. Hey, are your sisters this pretty?"

"I am _not_ pretty. I'm strikingly handsome," Newkirk snarled. "And all fffour of my sisters are lovely, thank you very much."

"Blonde or brunette?"

"W-what? Two of each, if you must know. And I'll th-thank you to st-st-stop thinking about my sisters, you randy little man. Confine your impure thoughts to Mmmary J-jane. I've heard you going at yourself at night and it's shocking."

LeBeau snorted at that, but withheld his thoughts about pots calling kettles black.

Carter was not the master of the snappy comeback. All he could do was turn pink and murmur, "It takes one to know one."

"Knock it off, fellas," Hogan said as he returned to his office where Newkirk was getting ready for Klink's tea party fundraiser for the Kraut commanders' wives. He looked at Newkirk and couldn't help but smile. Of course he had chosen Newkirk when he needed someone to dress as a woman. There was just something wickedly fun about making Newkirk squirm.

"You look elegant and dignified, Newkirk," Hogan said, crossing his arms to admire the Corporal's disguise.

"The very look I was going for," Newkirk grumbled. "Nothing too attractive. A tight bun and glasses, because the l-l-l-last bleeding thing I need is Klink deciding he'd like to get to know mme better."

"You do not want le Kommandant pursuing you," LeBeau agreed. "He might like what he finds under those layers." Newkirk smacked LeBeau across the chest irritably, but LeBeau had put his finger on the concern. Newkirk had always had his suspicions about Klink.

Carter, of course, was oblivious to the implication.

"Or Burkhalter might take a shine to you," he put in. "That'd be worse, boy. I'll bet he sweats like a pig when he holds your hand," Carter said as Hogan waved him and LeBeau to the door.

Newkirk got nauseous just thinking about it, because he was certain that German officers didn't stop at holding hands. His goal was to stay away from all the men at this tea party and concentrate on getting into town with one of the ladies so he could deliver penicillin to Oskar Danzig. He sat down on the Colonel's bottom bunk and mopped his brow. Hogan looked down at him, then sighed and pulled up a stool. He sat and faced Newkirk.

"Nervous, soldier?" he asked softly.

"Of c-course I am," Newkirk replied. "A chap could bleeding well get sh-shot for this," Newkirk answered, his irritation showing. "Why me, Sir?"

"I told you—you look good in basic black, Newkirk."

"No. I look awful in basic black. A pretty blue or green is really more my color," Newkirk cooed, camping it up with a fey little wave of his hand as he spoke. "Sorry, Sir," he apologized instantly. "Old theatre habit."

"I'll get you something in blue or green next time," Hogan replied, laying a hand on Newkirk's knee.

"There's going to be a next time? Bloody hell," Newkirk replied. "I'm tired of these cross-dressing missions. Can't I just risk my neck in boots and trousers?"

"Who said anything about a mission? I was thinking about a little getaway for just the two of us," Hogan said. Newkirk was looking at him quizzically, so he added, "A hotel. A candlelight dinner. A bed with pillows."

Newkirk's jaw dropped. "Colonel!" he sputtered. "What? W-what? You're coming onto me … You, you, you … You're talking about you and me? And a frock?" His voice rose an octave on the last phrase.

"If that means a dress, then yes, a frock. Blue or green, you choose," Hogan leaned in closer. "You really are a very pretty as a girl, Newkirk. You could dress up just for me and I could get lost in your eyes."

Newkirk was on his feet. "C-C-Colonel! I-I-I… I think you urgently need sssome time with T-t-tiger, Sir," Newkirk finally said. Anxiously, he backed toward the door, and Hogan followed. Newkirk found himself pinned against the wall with Hogan's arms encircling him. Their noses were inches apart, and Hogan smelled of leather and something woody and spicy. Newkirk's eyes grew wide as Hogan leaned into him.

"It's b-bad enough that Carter fffffancies me like this, Colonel. Not you too!" Newkirk's voice had risen another octave, and he was squeezing his eyes shut and trying desperately to turn his lips away from Hogan's.

Suddenly Newkirk felt a warm puff of Hogan's breath on his neck. Good God. He had to get away. Or so he thought—until he realized the Colonel was laughing.

Newkirk turned beet red as Hogan doubled over. "That's not funny, Sir," he snapped.

"No, but you are, Newkirk," Hogan laughed. "I hate to break it to you, pal, but you are _not_ a beautiful woman. Nobody here is falling in love with you."

Newkirk looked at Hogan skeptically, one eye squinted halfway shut and his head tipped to one side. "N-n-not even Carter?"

"Not even Carter, Newkirk," Hogan said through laughter-induced hiccups. He wiped his eyes.

"You were _both_ having me on?" Newkirk said accusingly. Hogan nodded sheepishly, but couldn't quite suppress a snicker.

Newkirk stood there fiddling with the end of his sleeve. Finally, he spoke.

"I, I look like my mum, you know," Newkirk said. "Are you saying she wasn't…"

Aw, jeez. Hogan thought. Open mouth, insert foot. He was doing that a lot lately.

"I'm sure your mum is…"

"Was." Hogan squeezed his eyes shut as the word escaped Newkirk's lips. Ouch, dammit.

"… _was_ very beautiful, Newkirk. I'm certain you're a credit to her because you're a handsome young man. I'm just saying that doesn't make you a pretty woman."

"So why are you putting me through this?" Newkirk snarled. "Why do I have to frock up as a bird? LeBeau's a b-better size for it."

"Yes, and he's built like a fireplug with a 5 o'clock shadow at 2:30. LeBeau can't convince anyone he's female," Hogan said.

"Then what about Carter?"

Hogan laughed again. "No. Just no. He can't move like a woman. You can." He tried a different tactic. "You're the best actor we've got, Newkirk."

"So I'm the lucky one what gets to go out and help the female impersonator while dressed like a female. Wonderful," Newkirk complained. Hogan couldn't help but notice that his stutter had abandoned him, as it usually did when he was pissed off.

"You're all we've got, Newkirk," Hogan said gently. "You're not too tall, you're slim, your beard's not too heavy, and you can walk like a woman. I'm not sure why you can do it, but you can."

"Bloody hell," Newkirk mumbled. "That'll teach me to pay attention in dance class."

"Dance class?" Now Hogan was stifling a laugh again.

"Ballroom and tap," Newkirk said woefully, crossing his arms. "Years and bloody years of it. I didn't want to go, but Mavis said that if I c-couldn't talk to girls, it would help if at least I could d-dance with them. I expect she was right," he said, settling down a bit.

Just then another thought entered his mind and inflamed him. "But no ballet. I drew the line at tights," he said, gesturing sharply with his hand. "I j-j-just don't want you to think…"

"No tights. Got it. I respect that, Newkirk," Hogan said, still working hard to hold back a smirk.

Newkirk stood there, head down and stock still, except for the fingers that were nervously tugging at his sleeves. His cheeks were cherry red with embarrassment, and Hogan wondered if maybe he'd gone too far with his little romantic prank. Sometimes he needed to remind _himself_ not to pad his part, he realized.

"Aw, sorry, Newkirk. I swear, I didn't mean to embarrass you. Come on, now, we've got a mission. You're on board, right?"

"Of course I'm on board, Sir. I'm a professional," Newkirk said. But he made no move.

"OK. Well, let's get going," Hogan coaxed.

Newkirk hung his head and shook it, then sniffled. He looked up at Hogan. He looked absolutely crushed.

"Come on, now, buck up," Hogan said. "I can see I did embarrass you. What can I do to help you?"

Newkirk shook his head again, eyes down. Finally he spoke. "You'll think it's silly," he said.

Good grief, Hogan thought, Newkirk's lip was trembling. "Of course I won't," he said gently. "Just tell me what you need."

"You won't want to," Newkirk said.

"The tea party starts in 20 minutes. We have to get going, Newkirk. Just tell me what you need."

"Well…" Newkirk said, looking up at Hogan through misty eyes. "No. I couldn't ask it of you."

"What is it, Newkirk?" Hogan demanded.

"Give us a kiss, Sir," Newkirk said.

"What?" Hogan replied.

"Give us a kiss. Just a simple kiss, Sir. My mmmmummy always kissed me when she wanted me to feel better. Mavis did, too," Newkirk said. His eyes were wide and hopeful.

Hogan stood there slack jawed. "Uhhh," was all he managed to say. Was he hearing things right? And had Newkirk just said "mummy"?

"A little, little kiss on the lips. For luck," Newkirk continued, pouting slightly and speaking very softly. "Please, Sir? I'd feel ever so mmmmuch better. And I promise, I shan't ask another thing. Not even if you do hurt my feelings again."

Ouch again.

Hogan held his head and shook it as if he was dispelling a bad dream. He felt like such a heel as he looked at Newkirk's puppy dog eyes, then at his watch. There wasn't time to argue or bargain or reason. They had a mission to get to, and he was going to have to say yes to this ridiculous request.

"I cannot believe I'm doing this," he muttered. "Fine. Come here." He pulled Newkirk closer, pressed his lips on the Corporal's and kissed him sweetly.

"There. Better?" Hogan asked. Pulling a memory of sweet maternal gestures from somewhere deep in his childhood, he gave Newkirk's cheek a gentle pat and rub. LeBeau had given Newkirk such a nice close shave that there no traces of stubble at all. Somehow that soft face made Hogan feel even worse.

Newkirk nodded slowly, eyes down. He was still pouting slightly, and Hogan's heart was breaking for him. "Oh brother," Hogan told himself. "I really need to work on cultivating a more mature sense of humor."

Then Newkirk's eyes flashed, and his innocent expression turned to a wicked grin.

"Got you," he said to Colonel Hogan, shaking a finger in his face. "If you ever, ever tell anyone what you pulled over on me, I shall tell them exactly what you just did to me. Do you understand?"

Hogan reared back in shock. Newkirk looked as menacing as a man possibly could while dressed in ladies' garments.

"Holy Toledo," Hogan said, trying not to look as worried as he felt. "All right. OK. You really got me that time, Newkirk. You got me fair and square."

"Good. Try to remember th-that," Newkirk said.

"I will. You win," Hogan said.

"I certainly did," Newkirk replied.

Then the corner of Hogan's lips curled up ever so slightly. "You little rascal," he said. "Yes, you got me, Newkirk. And you know what I'm going to do about it?" He moved back toward Newkirk.

"Nothing, if you have any sssense," Newkirk snapped back.

"Oh, really?" Hogan replied, laying a hand firmly on Newkirk's shoulder. "How about this?"

With that, he pulled Newkirk in for a long, deep kiss. He met some resistance—until he didn't. Newkirk was too stunned to respond in kind, but he didn't fight it, either. Suddenly he drew back, breathless, confused and oddly relaxed.

"All right, we're even. But you've g-gone crackers, Sir," Newkirk said, rolling his eyes and trying to stave off the grin that wanted to spread across his face.

"Maybe I have," Hogan said with a smirk. "All I know is we need to get you in and out of that tea party before you need a shave." He patted Newkirk on the backside and shooed him out the door.


End file.
